


What's Mine is Not Yours

by Tay (erentitanjaeger)



Series: The Drug Cartel AU [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Slight Violence, i cant believe they confirmed john wick 3, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erentitanjaeger/pseuds/Tay
Summary: It’s not that Shiro had hated Lotor before.In fact, for the most part, he was indifferent to him (which probably ticked him off more than if he had sworn revenge for his previous stunt involving their cartel).  He thought of Lotor like a fly that wouldn’t leave him alone on a hot, summer’s day.  He was persistent and annoying, but not necessarily something you waste energy being angry at.Until now.Now, Shiro loathed Lotor.





	1. Ever Heard of Bribing the Bouncer?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this part was supposed to end on a cliffhanger but then I accidentally kept writing and I'm not deleting two thousand words just for shock value. So, cheers to a resolution!
> 
> Thank you for all your kind comments! They make me weep tears of joy! Also, I'd love if you shouted suggestions at me for this AU! If there are other parts or characters you'd like to read about. Things you'd like to know about Keith and Shiro's relationship! I love knowing your thoughts!

**Then**

Shiro loved cars. 

More specifically, he loved fast cars.

Cars that thrummed under his hands.  Cars that make that satisfying growl when they start to life.  Cars that were silent when you drove, but loud to everyone you passed.  Cars that made heads turn and mouths drop, cars that showed he had a lot of money to spend and no time limit to spend it.

Once or twice a month, usually when they had clients to impress or suppliers to buy from, he’d take them down to the garage and show off.  More often than not, they’d make a deal right there and then.  On his drugs and on his cars.  He took the offer for the drugs, and told them to go fuck themselves for the cars (in a much politer manner, of course).

He had a rather impressive collection in the garage at their home base.  He had a few more scattered around the world at the various sites he frequented more often.  He had his favourites, which he loved to drive but didn’t drive often.  He had his least favourites, which he tended to use more, just to make his favourites last that little bit longer.

His favourite though, by far, envy to all his friends and enemies, was his black Lamborghini. 

It’s razor sharp design, coupled with all the customisation Shiro had done on it over the years made it his most prized and valuable possession.  Getting up to speeds of over two hundred kilometres per hour in just under ten seconds.  Plush, leather interior, a killer sound system, seat heaters and blu-tooth.  It had it all. 

He wasn’t necessarily selfish with his collection, either.  All keys were displayed on a rack in the kitchen, free for anyone to use as they please (it’s not like any of them didn’t make enough to cover any repairs if needed, anyway). 

Not his Lamborghini though.  It was off limits, all the time. 

Allura would joke he’d die and leave all of his belongings to a car.  Shiro would laugh, then silently wonder if that was at all possible. 

That car was his everything. The thing he’d come home to.  What he’d look forward to seeing in the mornings.  As cliché as it was, it was his baby.  He didn’t think he could love anything else more than he loved that car.

Then along came Keith.

\---

Tires squealed in protest as the hand break was abused, causing the car to drift around a bend.  The gear box shuddered as it was forced to obey, speeds fluctuating too fast and too unevenly.  The road was a smooth, dirt strip, dust and pebbles billowing up behind them as it was sped over.  Used enough to be a good drive, not enough to be replaced with bitumen any time soon.

Autumn was soon ending, which meant leaves were scattered across the path.  They flared as the car sped down the road, the engine roaring as it was used as freely as it had ever been before.  The farms and fields that usually surrounded them at a distance, sped past in a blur of greens and browns and yellows, now so much closer yet still untouchable. 

Wind whipped at his face, the windows down and letting the season air push what little hair he had sharply away from his features.  Shiro looked to his left, grinning as Keith eyed the road in front of him with sheer force and determination, brows set and lips in a wild grin as he shifted gears again, taking them around a sharp turn and almost sending them off the road in the process.

“This is amazing!” Keith screamed over the roar of the engine, once the car was righted and zooming down the road once again.

Shiro laughed, unable to take his eyes off Keith as he had the time of his life behind the wheel.  Keith squealed in joy, almost unheard over the squeal of the tires, but Shiro felt it reverberating in his heart.  He couldn’t see Keith’s eyes behind the ray-bans he had snatched off the kitchen bench when they had left the house, but he could feel his happiness filling the small confines of the car, winding through the gears and flooding the engine. 

Keith tore them through the country side, unbeknownst to where they were or where they were going.  Shiro made sure to point out if they were getting too close to a town or suburbs, but for the most part, he let Keith go where he wanted, do what he wanted, racing down the freeway like it was his lifeblood. 

Shiro was happy to be along for the ride.

\---

Keith carefully pulled into the garage.  He made his way through the line of other cars sitting there, pulling into the Lamborghini’s chosen spot methodically, like he did it every day, not like this was his first time driving in months.  The garage fell silent as the engine was shut off, Keith yanking the keys out of the ignition and slumping into his seat.

He turned to Shiro.

“I love you, Shiro, but I think I might love this car more,” he teased.  His hair was a mess, landing in knotted strands all over his cheeks and forehead.  His shoulders were pale and body was thin, the tank top Shiro had loaned him falling off his shoulders. 

He was a walking reminder of what he had just been through; what Shiro had put him through.

“Understandable,” Shiro said after only a beat.  “Honestly, I’d totally understand if you left me for this car.  I’d bless your marriage, even.”

Keith laughed, pushing his glasses onto his head and then leaning over the console.  Shiro welcomed the kiss, cupping the back of Keith’s head, and pushing their lips together. 

Then it didn’t stop.

Tongues danced, hands went to places they probably shouldn’t, moans and whimpers fell out the window and echoed in the large space around them.  Shiro breathed deeply through his nose, stroking Keith’s tongue with his own while sliding a hand under his tank top.  Keith’s skin was warm and smooth, just as Shiro remembered it. 

God, how he had missed this. 

Going from seeing Keith every day, holding him, loving him, touching him, to leaving him, it had been a nightmare Shiro hadn’t known if either of them could live through.  Honestly, he was surprised Keith had.

He had known of Keith’s self-destructive behaviour before they had started dating, and knew hearing the news of his newly appointed fiancé ‘dying’, could be the catalyst that might set them off for good.

The call from Allura only two weeks earlier, the one that had said they found him, that they were bringing him home, had been the most Shiro had felt in a year.  Suddenly, his heartbeat had felt too heavy, too much for a human chest to handle.  Suddenly, he felt warm and grounded, not distant from all he knew.  It was like he had been out, floating in space, and the news that Keith was alive and was returning to him had sent him plummeting down to burn up on re-entry.

Shiro did so happily.

Their lips eventually separated, but they remained as close as they could to each other.  Keith’s warm breath fanned his face, Keith’s hands resting on his chest.  Shiro gazed into eyes so deep and beautiful he felt as if he could drown in them.

“Hungry at all?” Shiro asked, playing with a lock of Keith’s hair. 

Keith hummed in response.  Shiro pressed another deep kiss to his fiancé’s lips, then opened his door and climbed out.  He didn’t have to tell Keith to wait for him to round the back of the car, opening the driver’s side door and helping Keith out of his seat.  It was habit.  Carved into their souls and beings.  Just another mannerism and quirk they shared with each other that had fallen so seamlessly back into place.

Shiro slid the car door closed behind Keith, then kissed him again, never letting go of his hand.

He could already hear the others out the back as they made their way from the garage through the house.  The smell of burgers and sausages wafted through the kitchen doors, everyone sitting around the patio furniture a welcoming sight.

Hunk and Coran were using the barbeque tools like swords, making laser noises with their mouths.  Pidge was helping Lance with the place settings.  Allura was talking on her phone while simultaneously handling a stack of paperwork in front of her.  Shiro frowned.

“Allura,” he scolded.  She jumped, having not noticed their return.

“Oh, Shiro!  I was just…talking with father!  He says hello!” She attempted to give him an appeasing smile, but her scrunched brows and surprised expression had already given her away.

“Tell him hi from me and then hang up.  No business on our day off and I know that’s not a social call.”

Allura apologised and then returned to her phone, wrapping up the conversation quickly before she could be scolded more.

“Something smells good,” Keith commented, noting the meat sizzling on the grill, the bacon crackling in the pan next to the plate of eggs and onions that had already been fried.  Shiro gave a grunt of agreement.

He squeezed Keith’s hand.  Just because he could.

“Thank you, my boy!” Coran replied, pretending to cut Hunk’s arm off as he did.  “Hunk may be the culinary whiz around here, but the barbeque is my domain! Hi-yah!”

With a final flurry and stab, Hunk fell to his knees, defeated.

Keith laughed at their antics.

Shiro sighed, relishing in not only the sound, but the happiness he knew came with it.  Knowing how Keith hadn’t had much cause for laughter recently, he felt relief and gratitude fill him at the knowledge Keith was finally at peace once again.

It was just a bonus he could be at peace next to Keith.

“What!?  Are those the lambo’s keys?”  Lance all but wailed, noticing the keys dangling from Keith’s fingers on the hand unoccupied with holding Shiro’s.

Keith briefly gave them a glance.

“Yeah?” Keith answered, raising an eyebrow.

“Damn, bitch!  I’ve been trying to get behind the lambo for years!  You’ve been here not even a month and Shiro gives you free rain?”

Keith shrugged. 

“Guess I’m the favourite,” he teased. Shiro chuckled, unslotting their fingers, only to wrap his arm around Keith’s waist and pull him close, kissing his hair.

Lance groaned, loudly, enough for Allura to give him a displeased look along with a shushing motion.

“No fair!  Why’s he the favourite?”

Shiro knew Lance was only whining, but he was having fun poking at him anyway.

“Simple.  Keith gives me access to his ass, I give him access to my car.”

Keith hides his face in Shiro’s chest, his shoulders shaking as he lets his laughter out into the fabric of Shiro’s shirt.

Lance goes silent, as if considering his options.  He turns to Allura.

“Hey? Babe?”

It was just in time for Allura to hang up her phone and catch the end of their conversation. 

“No, Lance, you may not have sex with Shiro,” she says so finally, not even looking up from her work as she continues shuffling around paperwork. 

Lance curses.  Shiro and Keith snigger against each other.

“I second that,” Keith calls.

Hunk is up from the ground and helping Coran pile food onto serving trays.  They carry it over and motion for everyone to sit down. 

Shiro gives his usual position at the head of the table to Pidge, opting to take the park bench they use for extra seating so he can be close to Keith.  They spend a moment commenting on the work done and thanking Coran and Hunk for cooking, then start picking up plates and passing them around.  Salads, meat, buns, sides, sauces.  It all ends up in each person’s hands at least once.  Shiro hadn’t realised how hungry he was himself until his plate was piled high with all his barbeque favourites.

 “Should I ask why these patties are green?” Keith asks, poking at the offending food on the plate he’s been passed.

“Those are my veggie burgers!” Allura pipes up, practically leaping over the table to grab them off Keith.  Keith hands them over without complaint.

“So, do you guys do this often?” Keith inquires, carefully assembling a burger on his plate. 

“Yeah, like once a week or so,” Lance replies, mouth full.  Allura elbows him for his lack of manners.

“It helps boost team moral if we can share meals together like this,” Shiro explains.  “Sometimes we get take out and sit in the home theatre and argue about movies for two hours, other times we all make a dish and eat in the dining room.”

“Yeah, and when its warmer, we throw these awesome pool parties where, I guarantee you, Lance will lose his board shorts at least once,” Pidge exclaims.

“That was one time!” Lance bites.

“It was one time, last time,” Pidge bites back. “The time before that, it was at least three.”

“I keep telling you to use the draw strings, man,” Hunk chuckles, shaking his head as he swallows a hot dog whole. 

Keith blinks, impressed.

“Babydoll, make sure you eat,” Shiro says, gesturing to Keith’s untouched plate.  “You need to keep your strength up.”

“Not to mention, you need to keep up with that calorie intake we talked about!” Coran says, pointing a potato at Keith.

Keith only smiles at everyone’s concern but picks up his burger and takes a huge bite anyway.  Shiro’s relieved to see Keith so eager to eat for once.

“No offense, but I don’t think wearing one of Shiro’s shirts is helping with the skeletal image you got going on,” Lance adds.

“I don’t have anything else,” Keith replies around a mouthful of burger, sauce dribbling down his chin.  Shiro would be disgusted if he weren’t so happy Keith was actually enjoying a meal.  “Because, ya know, you kidnapped me from my city with no notice and no chance to pack.  I would’ve gone shopping, but I was pretty busy for a few weeks, what with my head in the toilet and the copious amount of sweat coming from my body.”

“Ew!  Excuse you, I’m eating!” Allura whines.

Keith gives her an apologetic look.

Keith hadn’t had a heavy addiction to drugs, so his withdrawals caught them by surprise.  At first, Shiro thought he was just tired from suddenly being dragged half-way around the world to be reunited with his lover, but when it started getting worse, he asked Coran to take a look.  The next day, Keith spent the morning on the bathroom floor, throwing up into the toilet, before passing out.  Shiro had rushed him to the infirmary, where Coran prescribed an IV drip to help Keith keep his fluids, and some medication to help with the nausea.  Beyond that, they had to wait it out.

Keith had remained bedridden for days, too tired to even watch TV.  Shiro, of course, had remained by his side, feeding him water from a bottle like a baby, and hushing him when Keith became restless or agitated.  It had been a long wait, but eventually Keith began to regain some of his strength.

Today was the first day Keith had felt well-enough to leave the house since he had arrived, and Shiro suggested a quiet drive through the country.

‘Quiet drive’ was objective, of course.

“How are you going with that, anyway?” Hunk is genuinely curious and concerned for Keith’s well-being.

Keith swallows before answering.

“I think the withdrawals are finally taking a backseat.  Sometimes I still feel like my skin is trying to crawl off my bones, and I still get sick from time to time, but the meds Coran gave me have helped a bunch.”  He leans back into Shiro as he says the next part, laying his head on Shiro’s shoulder.  “Being back with Shiro has been the best medicine of all.”

There’s an equal jumble of both ‘aw’s and ‘ew’s, Shiro dropping his knife and fork to wrap Keith in a hug and give him a sloppy kiss on the lips.  He doesn’t stop there, prying Keith’s mouth open and humming against his lips, a hand on Keith’s jaw, one in his hair.  Keith kisses back just as enthusiastically, as though Shiro is his new drug and he needs to take all he can get, or the withdrawals could kill him.

They only stop when the others start throwing bits of food at them.

\---

“Do you seriously not let anyone else touch the lambo?” Keith asked from the bed.  He was lounging on about five pillows, drowning in another of Shiro’s shirts.  His hair fanned out around his head as he sunk further and further into the mattress.  Shiro couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he looked, and was thankful for it.

“Nope.  That car is my pride and joy,” Shiro pulled on his own sleep shirt before heading toward the bed, climbing under the covers next to Keith.  They shared a quick kiss, then Shiro got comfortable sitting up against the headboard.  “It used to be my baby, before I met this amazing doll in a club one night, who took my breath away, then my heart.  Robbed me blind.”

Keith hummed, grinning smugly, looping an arm over Shiro’s legs and kissing his hip bone.

“I’m sure he was only taking what was rightfully his.”

Shiro chuckled, settling his reading glasses on his nose and stroking Keith’s hair. 

Shiro usually did paperwork before bed.  Oddly enough, it calmed him, relaxed him enough that he used to fall asleep at his desk, Allura having to come in and wake him up in the middle of the night and tell him to go sleep in his room like a civilised human being.  Now, he did it in bed, chatting with Keith about anything and everything, so most of the time the paperwork ended up discarded at the foot of the bed while they shared soft touches before falling asleep in each other’s arms with the light still on.

Shiro wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Keith was mumbling, already falling asleep.  The day must have taken more out of him than Shiro originally thought, Keith not being used to being so active again.

“I have an appointment with my physical therapist; checking in to see if I need to be refitted for a new arm yet.  It’s in the city, so I figured we could go shopping afterwards.  Maybe have dinner at a nice restaurant if you feel up to it.”

Keith hummed, breath already even and slow.

“Sounds good,” his voice was soft and could barely be heard.  “Can we take the lambo?”

Shiro couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, Sweetheart, we can take the lambo.”

Keith let out a small noise of elation.

It went quiet.  Shiro shuffled through some papers, stroked Keith’s hair a few times, wrote down some adjustments in the margins.  Keith nuzzled closer, Shiro continued petting his hair. 

Just as Shiro was writing in some new numbers, it occurred to him.

This was his life now.  He would soon come to consider this normal, if he hadn’t already.  This was routine.  A day with his team, haggling with Allura over costs and analysists, bullying Lance in good spirit, eating Hunk’s food, and all with Keith by his side.  Keith, chatting with the team like they were family, following Shiro’s every move, then settling in beside each other at the end of the day.  Keith even assumed he’d be joining Shiro on his endeavours the next day, just as Shiro had assumed Keith would be coming with him.

And it all felt so incredibly _right_.

He looked to Keith, who was fully asleep now, dark lashes kissing his cheeks, lips slightly parted, the covers shoved down to his waist as it was getting too warm to be buried under them entirely.

None of it felt surreal.  It didn’t feel like this was new, like he was still getting used to it.  It just felt like he had been doing this every day, being with Keith, keeping him happy and warm and safe.  Going about his day with the love of his life next to him.

Shiro took his glasses off and placed both them and the paperwork on his nightstand, flicking off the light and letting his eyes slowly adjust.  The room filled with the light of the moon, everything becoming a shade of pale blue under its glow.  He slid under the covers, carefully pulling Keith under his chin and settling into his one pillow. 

This is where he was supposed to be.  For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel out of place in his own skin, or feel like his entire being was disagreeing with his very existence.

Keith returning to him, returning himself to Keith, had meant coming home for the first time in a long time.

\---

**Now**

It’s not that Shiro had hated Lotor before.

In fact, for the most part, he was indifferent to him (which probably ticked him off more than if he had sworn revenge for his previous stunt involving their cartel).  He thought of Lotor like a fly that wouldn’t leave him alone on a hot, summer’s day.  He was persistent and annoying, but not necessarily something you waste energy being angry about. 

Until now.

Now, Shiro _loathed_ Lotor.

“Shiro, you need to calm down!  Getting yourself caught before you can even get to Lotor isn’t going to help!”

Allura’s voice was hard to hear from the car’s speakers, over the blood pounding in his ears as well as the roar of the engine at his fingertips.

“He took Keith!” Shiro screams at the microphone.  “Kidnapped him right from the comfort of our bed!  Then had the balls to taunt me over it; like I wouldn’t retaliate!  Like I wouldn’t take it personally!”

He yanks the car around a sharp bend, a few other cars screeching to a halt and honking angrily at him.  He ignores them.  He doesn’t have time for them.

“I understand that, Shiro!  I would be angry too, but you must understand that you’re in a foreign country!  We don’t have as much rule here as we do back home.  Moreover, half of this city is Lotor’s domain.  If you get caught, it will take us longer to get you out of trouble than it would normally as we don’t know who is exactly on who’s side!”

She’s reasoning with him.  She’s making some very good points.  Allura has been running their operations for years and knows exactly how the system works, and if it doesn’t work in their favour, she knows which strings to pull to make sure it does.  Normally, Shiro would listen to her. 

Not tonight.

He guns the engine, speeding through a red light.

“Not to mention if you end up dead, it makes things infinitely harder,” Pidge quips.

Shiro ignores her too.

“How far away?” Is all he replies with.

There’s silence only for a moment.

“You’re about two kilometres out.  Take the next turn on your right and you’ll pull up on the back street.”

Shiro does just that.

\---

It had taken hours before the team had gaged the situation, going over every detail multiple times with Shiro as they packed and prepared to depart Japan. It had kept Shiro on edge the whole time, ringing his hands so hard the metal in his cybernetic hand had become warped under the pressure. It still worked though, so Shiro paid it no mind.

Finally, they touched down in Rome, flooding the hotel room with computers and drafts and papers that had statistics and graphs on it Shiro had never seen before.  Profiles of people Shiro had never heard of.  Positions and other organisations that, until now, they hadn’t been affiliated with. 

They even had Shiro’s prized Lamborghini flown over, knowing it was the most familiar vehicle Shiro had ever driven, making it the fastest and easiest way to manoeuvre through the streets in the dead of night.  At least, that’s what the team had said.  Shiro knew they had brought it with them to help keep him calm, something for him to hang on to as a vice, like a child with a teddy bear.

Shiro was deeply grateful for the gesture.

Finding Keith wasn’t the hard part.  Shiro, having assumed the worse long before it had happened, had ordered Keith’s wedding ring to be made with a very small, but powerful, chip that hid under the diamond.  So long as it wasn’t damaged, it constantly gave off a signal that, if you knew what to look for, could be tracked to the exact location within a one hundred metre radius.  Not an exact science, but upon following the chips movements across the city, and looking up local hot spots within the area, it wasn’t hard to figure out where Lotor was taking him.

Lotor’s club happened to be one of the most prestigious clubs in Rome.  It had been raved about in countless magazines across continents, celebrities from all nations known to be seen there.  It had a reputation as The Place to be if you were of high enough class, if you had the right connections. 

It was a smart business move, really.  Coat your hide-out in press and constant attention, and it makes it almost impossible for anyone to sneak into the underground drug ring going on deep within its walls. 

It was a move so entirely _Lotor,_ it made Shiro want to vomit.

Retrieving Keith was now the challenge.

Shiro, usually the voice of reason, had offered to go in, guns blazing, teeth bared, fists swinging.  Allura had kindly reminded him that’s exactly what Lotor would be prepared.  Not only that, but drawing any attention to themselves could burn a hole so large in their operations it could be incredibly difficult to patch back up.  Shiro had resigned to being patient as they continued to think of a plan.

Upon almost twenty-four hours after Keith’s disappearance, Shiro was going mad with worry.  He couldn’t stop pacing the room, checking his phone, cursing under his breath at anything and everything that set him off.  Allura had implored him to remain patient, but by nightfall, Shiro feared the stress would kill him before Lotor could kill Keith. 

With that, he had slipped into something more discreet when you planned to visit a prestigious club, snuck out the hotel door with his Lamborghini’s keys, and tore down the streets of Rome.  Allura had called him immediately after, begging for him to return, but Shiro had refused vehemently.

Not without his babydoll.  Not without Keith.

\---

“Shiro, if you’re going through with this, you’ll need to be subtle about getting into that club,” Allura is back.  He can hear her shuffling papers on her end, going over blue-prints, trying to find the best way in without being detected.  “That place will be crawling with Lotor’s bodyguards.  He’s been a nuisance to our organisation for years, but he’s not entirely daft.  He’ll understand the severity of the position he’s put himself in, and will have taken precautions to keep himself out of harm’s way.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t have kidnapped my husband, if he didn’t want to be in ‘harm’s way’.”

Shiro sees the club and finally touches the breaks on his car. 

He pulls up to curve, eyeing the back door from a distance.  Even from here, he could see three well muscled men standing guard under the street lights, surveying the area.  One even had his eyes on Shiro’s car, already suspicious.  It didn’t help that Shiro was the only car on the street, and a Lamborghini wasn’t exactly subtle.

“There are three men out the back,” Shiro’s voice was calmer now, but only because if it appeared like he was yelling or flustered for any reason, it would only attract unwanted attention to himself. 

“I’m trying to find you another way in,” Pidge interjects.  Shiro can hear her fingers moving furiously over the keyboard.  “But there aren’t many options.  Looks like Lotor has kept an air-tight seal on this place.  It’s almost impossible to get in without a pass, and all of us will be recognised on the spot.”

Shiro grinds his teeth together.

All three guards have noticed him now, eyeing him warily, standing off, daring him to come closer. 

He taps the steering wheel with two padded fingers, growing impatient.  Every second they waste is another second Keith could be hurt, or traumatised, or killed.  It’s a second longer that he’s captured that he shouldn’t be. 

Shiro tries not to think of the worse, of what Lotor could be doing to him inside that club.  If he lets his mind stray, he knows he won’t be able to think as clearly, his judgement will become clouded, and he could only get the both of them killed.  Instead, he closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, focusing on the things he’ll do once he gets Keith back.

He’ll take Keith far away from here.  He’ll have all the food and drinks he could want as they fly to any place he wants.  He’ll hold Keith tight in his arms and never let go, wrap him up in the finest blankets.  He’ll constantly give him kisses, small and soft, hard and deep, making sure he’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s happy.

Keith will never cry again so long as Shiro lives.

“How’s Lance and Hunk doing?” Shiro asks, trying to fill the waiting time.

“They reported catching sight of Lotor outside the club two hours ago, taking a smoking break, then he went back inside.  Hasn’t been seen since.  Keith’s position hasn’t moved though,” Allura replies.  “I’ve also sent them as back up.  Please, Shiro, at least don’t do anything _too_ crazy until they get there.”

Shiro is about to answer when he notices the three guards now making their way towards his car.  He hadn’t realised how long he had been sitting here.  A man dressed in a black suit, driving a black Lamborghini, parked in a back alleyway where the only thing worth watching happened to be the back door to the most prestigious club in Rome?

What could possibly be so suspicious about that?

He puts the car back into drive and coasts around the corner back to the street.  There, the front of the club is a lot more lively, and actually looks like a club.  It’s a gaudy design, but the front is made entirely of glass.  Sheer curtains are draped across them from the inside, but it doesn’t mean passers-by can’t sneak a glance inside, find out what they’re missing.

It seems to be in full swing tonight.  Dancers atop the tables and the stage, swinging their hips enticingly to the loud bass coming from the DJ.  The floor illuminates the patrons with endless neon lights.  The bartenders, dressed in nothing but tight pants and bow-ties, smile charmingly, serving drink after drink to their obliging customers.

Again, it all sticks out like a sore thumb, yet the entire system makes it impossible to sneak in under Lotor’s radar.

Not that Shiro particularly cares if Lotor catches him sneaking in or not.  He’ll punch his way through to Keith if he has to.

An idea sparks in Shiro, one he’s sorry he didn’t think of before. 

If he’s going head to head with a tyrannical maniac who loves hogging the spot light, he’s going to need to fight like a tyrannical maniac who loves hogging the spotlight. 

Shiro drives the car further down the street, makes a U-turn, and slams his foot onto the accelerator.  The car flies.  Shiro, at least, has the courtesy to honk the horn a few times in warning, before he yanks the car into a sharp turn at the last minute and flies through the very front windows he was just criticizing.

He supposed those windows were good for something.

The noise is devastating.  The wreckage is phenomenal.  There’s glass and debris everywhere.  Shiro groans.  He hadn’t taken into account impact, and slamming at full speed into an airbag isn’t exactly comfortable.  His ears are ringing.  There’s static coming from the car’s speakers, interchangeable with Allura’s frightened shrieking.  He ignores her.

He manages to lift his head.  People are running in a panic for the exits.  Employees and bouncers are hoarding their customers out as fast as they can.  There’s screaming and shouting.  There’s buzzing from the electrical wires he managed to sever on his way through the front wall, glass shattering further under the stomp of the crowd’s feet. 

It’s a madhouse.

It’s exactly what Shiro needs.

Shiro forces his door open, thankful his car still seems to be responsive for the most part.  Blood drips from his nose onto the tiles at his feet.  Shiro touches his brow, his fingers coming away warm and sticky.  He isn’t sure where he’s been cut or how deep, the adrenaline keeping all pain and noise at bay.  Shiro pays it no mind, moving toward the back rooms as fast as he can.

“You sick, digusting, _insane,_ son of a bitch!” Comes a shrill voice.

Out from the back curtains and storming his way down the stage is Lotor himself, having caught wind of what had happened and, not needing much more of a description than a jet-black Lamborghini driven by a man with a scar on his nose having been launched through his club’s front door, had come racing to see the damage.

Shiro gives it a glance himself.

He has to give himself a pat on the back.  The front windows, all of them, have completely caved in.  Glass still rains from the frames.

“You couldn’t just _knock_ like a normal person?  For fucks sake, Shirogane!  I had you on the list.  I was _waiting_ for you!”

Shiro only gives Lotor a dull stare.

“Keith.” Is all he demands.  “Give him back.  Now.”

“I was planning to sit down and _talk_ with you.  Make some negotiations!”

Shiro limps forward, now realising his leg must have bruised during the crash.  Lotor climbs off the stage.

“Give him back to me.”

“I can’t believe you drove a fucking _car_ through my godamn _window!”_

“Now!” Shiro screams, rage fuelling his actions, yanking his knife from his hip and throwing it at Lotor.

Lotor manages to jump at the last minute, but not before it can graze his leg.  He only gives his new cut a glance, before racing at Shiro.  Shiro meets him halfway.

Shiro had never underestimated Lotor.  The man thought flamboyantly and loudly.  He fought like all that and more.  He was different, but he wasn’t by any means weak. 

Shiro, however, is a methodical thinker, running on pure adrenaline and wrath pumping through his veins.  For every kick Lotor sends his way, Shiro lands two more punches to his gut.  For every swipe Shiro aims at him, Lotor only knees him in the nose. 

They squabble like children, but fight like professionals. 

Shiro gets Lotor into a chokehold, his metal arm crushing the life out of Lotor through his neck.

“You threatened my way of life, endangered my family!  Did you really think I’d walk into your little playground quietly?  Did you really think I wouldn’t retaliate?” Shiro is clearly out of breath, you can hear it in the great gasps he takes in-between sentences, but the thought of Keith, of beautiful, innocent, hopeful Keith continues to flash across his eyes.

Lotor manages to jab his elbow into Shiro’s bruised side, causing his hold to loosen enough for Lotor to escape his hold, turning and sending a roundhouse kick to his head.  Any other man might have fallen to the ground, but Shiro only ignores the throbbing in his jaw and sends another fist into Lotor’s stomach.

Somehow, simultaneously, they both decide that nice play is over, and pull guns from mirroring holsters on their hips.

It’s finally quiet.  The dust settles.  The place is empty except for the two of them.

Shiro’s breathing is harsh and deep.  He can feel his ribcage rattle with each breath.

Lotor isn’t much better, enraged at Shiro and his little stunt, blood dripping from a split lip.

Lotor is the first to break the silence.

“You’re such a fucking pain!”

Shiro stares him down.

“Back at ya!”

Shiro needs Lotor’s attention off him.  If only for a split second.  Long enough for him to pull the trigger, and send Lotor to the ground.

It feels like hours as they stand there, guns pointed at each other’s temples.  Their heavy panting fills the room.  Shiro is beginning to feel the pain in his side, in his face and in his leg.  It throbs and burns and makes him acutely aware how out of practice with this sort of action he is. 

Sparring with Keith on rubber mats doesn’t count for shit anymore.

Then, like his constant saving grace, there’s a noise from backstage.  Neither Lotor nor Shiro take their eyes off each other, but they can hear the shouts, grunts and cries getting closer and closer.  Shiro is lucky enough to be facing the stage, so is the first to see as a suited man is thrown through the curtain to slide across to the end of the glass platform. 

The man stumbles to his feet, ear piece dangling from his neck.  He looks surprised, astonished even. 

Shiro finds out at what exactly when a second body follows, landing at the first man’s feet.  Then there’s a clack, and an enraged cry as, flaring the curtains behind him so hard they rip, storming across the stage in sleek, stiletto heels towards the assumed to be bodyguards, is _Keith._

Shiro doesn’t have time to take in what or how or why because the two men are busy trying to tumble off the stage and out of harm’s way, only, too late, Keith grabs a heel off his foot and _throws it at them._

It lands squarely in the middle of the first one’s forehead, sending him toppling backwards off the stage.  The other one is too busy watching what just happened to his colleague, so doesn’t see when Keith slides cleanly to the floor on his knees, and sweeps the guard’s feet out from under him, then uses the leverage he now has to slam a foot into the middle of the guard’s chest.  Keith is back on his feet before the guard tumbles from the stage, both men now unconscious on the floor below him.

Keith stands there, panting, back muscles rising and falling as he takes in what he’s just done. 

“Babydoll?!” Shiro finds himself calling, shocked to his core, though definitely in a good way.

Keith spins around, leaning on his bare foot, catching Shiro’s eyes.

“Puppy!?”

They stare at each other, the world melting away.

God, he’s missed him.  They’d been separated for little over a day, but Shiro can honestly say he’s missed him.  He had never let himself imagine the worse, of finding Keith injured beyond repair or dead, but he hadn’t quite let himself believe the images he gave himself of bringing Keith home safe either.

Hope is a dangerous tool to hold in your belt.

It’s then that Shiro finally takes in exactly what Keith is wearing.  Then again, it’s not much of anything if he’s being honest.  The suspender set is glorious against his skin.  Pitch black, with a lace skirt falling off the hem and ending in little bows over various points.  The underwear frames his thighs and curves over his ass so beautifully Michael Angelo would be proud.  The stockings are sheer lace, the little clasps holding them at the perfect height so you get that tease of skin between his hip and thigh. 

The heels are stiletto pumps, the single one still adorning Keith’s foot sleek and shiny under the remaining working lights of the club.

Shiro has to fight back the urge to drool where he stands.

“What the _fuck?!”_

Shiro tears his attention from his fiancé, noticing all respect he just found for Lotor drop dead as the man now has his back to him, gun forgotten at his side.  Shiro barely still has his raised, but it’s still aimed and pointed, at the very least. 

“Can’t you two just leave my club alone instead of destroying it at every change you g-“

Lotor doesn’t get the chance to finish his outraged cry as Shiro slams the hilt of his gun into the back of his neck.  Lotor drops to the ground, unconscious.

Keith fully turns to Shiro now, offering him a shy smile in the way of a hello.

Shiro steps over Lotor’s body and makes his way to the stage, holding out his arms.  Keith bends enough to allow his arms to loop around Shiro’s neck, then drops himself into Shiro’s bridal style hold. 

Their lips meet.  It’s warm and fragrant and sticky from Keith’s lip gloss, and Shiro can feel it down to the tips of his toes.  Keith whimpers, holding himself tight to Shiro.  Shiro reiterates, keeping his hand firmly on Keith’s bare back, tightening his grip on his legs.  Keith shivers.

When they separate, they don’t go very far.  Keith keeps their foreheads pressed together.  Shiro keeps their chests pressed together.

“You came,” Keith says simply, quietly, so as not to disturb the peaceful bubble they’ve made for themselves.

Shiro gives him an amused look.

“Of course, I did.”

Keith continues to gaze into his eyes.  Shiro continues to gaze into Keith’s.  Keith weaves his fingers at the back of Shiro’s neck, playing with the grain of hair there, sending a pleasurable thrill through Shiro’s entire being.

“I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.”

Shiro grins, pulling Keith against him again so they can share another sloppy kiss.  Keith welcomes it, sighing into it, clambering even closer in Shiro’s arms.

“Hey, Black!” 

They pull apart when they hear a familiar voice, looking to see Lance and Hunk stumbling through the wreckage at the front.  Lance eyes it all over, and lets out a low whistle.

“I mean that’s definitely one way to break into a prestigious nightclub,” Lance mutters.  “Damn!  Why didn’t I think of that?”

Hunk gives him an amused look. 

Shiro puts Keith back on his feet.  Keith doesn’t let himself step away, immediately circling his arms around Shiro’s waist and resting his tired head on Shiro’s chest.  Shiro hushes him softly, sliding off his jacket and looping it over Keith’s shoulders to help him fight off some of the night’s chill.

“Okay, Red, what in God’s name are you wearing?!”

They’ve made their way over to the couple now.  Hunk as a rifle over his shoulder, Lance, a crossbow.  Shiro’s never sure why Lance _insists_ on using the out-of-date weapon as his main, but he’s never missed a shot so long as he’s worked for Shiro, so Shiro has never complained about it either.

“Shut it, Blue, or my other heel is going into your eye socket!”

Lance lets out an offended wail.  Shiro can’t help but laugh.  In the face of everything, he’s so glad to see what’s happened hasn’t hit Keith where it hurts.  That he’s kept his chin high in the face of overwhelming odds, and now that bravery will be rewarded.  With a warm home to return to, and a doting husband that will never leave his side again.

“We’ve already called the others.  Green and Pink will be here in a few minutes,” Hunk says.  He then notices Lotor, now slowly returning to consciousness, groaning at their feet.  “What should we do with him?”

Shiro gives Lotor a disgusted look as he answers.

\---

When the others arrive, they end up cuffing Lotor to one of the bar stools fixed into the floor.  When he wakes, he predictably flies into a fit of rage, screaming and throwing his limbs around like a child throwing a tantrum.  The team ignores him as they make their way out through Shiro’s crash site.

Keith pauses beside Shiro’s beloved car.

“Did you…” He gives Shiro an exasperated look, like he can hardly believe Shiro would go to such lengths just for him. 

Shiro shrugs, tightening his hold around Keith’s waist and kissing his hair.

Keith sighs, leaning against Shiro tiredly.

“Only _you_ , my love, would use a three hundred-thousand-dollar car as a ‘Skip-the-Line’ pass.  Ever heard of just bribing the bouncer?”

“Excuse you,” Allura chimes in.  “I did the insurance on that thing and I can tell you now, it’s worth far more than three hundred thousand.”

“Yes, but its insured for even more than that,” Shiro replies.

“Not for self-inflicted crashes, Shiro. That one’s coming out of your own pocket.”

Shiro doesn’t even flinch, only looking down at his husband plastered to his side.

“Worth every penny.”

Keith blushes, but motions Shiro should bend for a warm kiss anyway.

They’re on the street again, assessing the damage from the outside, when a limo rounds the corner.  The Altea family crest on the hood gives away the identity of the inhabitant, but it’s still an unwelcome surprise to see Zarkon climb out of the back seat.

“Good God, what happened here?” the man says, surveying the giant hole in the wall.

Shiro doesn’t waste time in shielding Keith from him, stepping in between them.

“Your son is what happened,” Shiro says, anger flaring from the group.

Zarkon has the gall to pretend to be surprised at least.

“Oh dear, not again.”

Shiro motions for Keith to follow Allura back to their own car.  The others slowly trail behind her, until Shiro is left alone in front of the limo with Zarkon.  Zarkon stares at him, and for once, Shiro stares right back.

He’s tired of running from this man, from the memories he’s forced to relive every time he looks at his eyes.  Zarkon sighs, having the gall to look tired because of all this.

“I don’t suppose an apology will _begin_ to appease what’s happened here?”

Shiro grits his teeth.

“No.  It won’t.”

Zarkon tuts, like this is a waste of _his_ time.  Like this has somehow been a hindrance to _him._

Shiro walks closer, until he’s standing right in front of Zarkon.  Zarkon is a little taken aback at his.  The last time they were this close, Zarkon was too busy carving a scar into Shiro’s face to listen to what he had to say (read: scream).

Shiro will make him listen now.

“If you _,_ or your son, or _any_ of the Galra come anywhere near me, my team, or God forbid, my husband, ever again, I won’t just stop at taking your job and your possessions and your money.  I’ll take your life.”

Zarkon doesn’t seem phased.  Shiro expected that, but he isn’t scared either.  He won’t back down in the face of his enemies again.  That kind of behaviour almost cost the life of his most beloved; he won’t risk undermining the kind of damage Zarkon, and anyone affiliated with him, can do again.

“Please, Shirogane,” Zarkon begins, gently.  Shiro can feel the condescension behind his words.  “I’m sure we can find a middle ground.  A truce, if you will.”

Shiro shakes his head.

“No.  I’m done.”  Zarkon raises an eyebrow.  “With you and with your faction.”

Shiro walks away, still slightly limping, but his threat remains heavy in the air between them all the way back to the car. 

Keith is in the back, having kept the door open so Shiro can easily climb in.  He pulls the door shut and motions to Allura that he’s ready to leave.  He doesn’t miss the looks everyone is giving him.  The sad eyes.  The sorrowful expressions.  The ones that comes with the knowledge of what a treasured friend has been through, and has now conquered.

Shiro, though thankful for the concern, pays them no mind.  Instead, he loops a solid arm around Keith and tucks him under his chin.  Keith snuggles in, kisses his neck, and relaxes against him.  He’s asleep almost immediately, to which Shiro is thankful for.  He holds Keith tight, careful to ward off any offending dreams he might have.

\---

Keith is adamant that any of the train stations are a good buy no matter how early in the game you are.  Lance disagreed, and now they’re fighting it out in the most intense game of Monopoly Keith has ever been privy too. 

He hated playing it as a kid, because he had absolutely no business savvy beyond ‘this will get me the most money, so why not buy it right away?’  Now that he’s older, wiser, and is an extremely valued contributor to some very large business deals involving great sums of money, he thought he’d be a little better at it.  Least of all, better than Lance.

Yet, Lance’s smug grin, giant wad of brightly, coloured cash, and various houses and hotels placed on nearly every corner of the board is telling him otherwise. 

“Still think those train stations were a good investment?” Lance snides.  He fans himself with his money, just because he can.  “Call bankruptcy now, and I’ll only gloat _mildly_ at you for the next six months.”

Shiro watches from the drinks cart as Keith looks down at his measly few bills, practically hearing Keith shifting through any and all possibilities, fighting for a way out.  He swears he hears something about wishing the plane would crash just so he wouldn’t have to admit defeat.  It breaks his heart. 

Shiro finishes pouring orange juice into a cup full of ice, then begins to walk down the aisle toward where Keith sits.

“Puppy!” Keith whines, noticing Shiro’s return.  “Lance has all my money!”

“This is my money!  I earned it!”  Lance howls as he waves it around.

Shiro takes the opportunity to snatch a good portion of it out of his hand and passes the paper bills to Keith, along with his drink.

“There you go, Babydoll,” Shiro coos, bending down to give him a kiss as well.

Lance is throwing a fit behind them, but neither could care less.  Eventually, Lance slams the rest of his cash down and leaves to go find Allura.  Shiro and Keith share amused looks as he does.

Keith gets out of his chair long enough for Shiro to take it instead, then settles back onto his lap, content to be cradled in Shiro’s arms.  Shiro cards fingers through his hair, kisses his forehead, makes sure his jumper is pulled high enough up his chest so he doesn’t get cold.  Shiro is aware he’s babying Keith, fussing over him to an alarming degree, but he can’t help it.  After everything they’ve been through, it’s hard to leave him even just long enough to get him a drink.

As Keith settles against him, taking a sip of his juice and humming at the fingers in his hair, Shiro figures Keith doesn’t mind the extra attention.

“How long until we land?” Keith asks.  “I can’t wait to sleep in our bed again.”

Shiro doesn’t blame him.  Even after the scene at Lotor’s club, they didn’t stop long enough to rest.  Shiro had everything packed and ready to leave within a few hours while Keith showered and dressed, just as eager to leave.  They arranged to have their mess cleaned up, boarded the jet and took off, ready to return home to familiar surroundings and go back to routine.

Shiro is concerned Keith might be worried they’re cutting their honeymoon short, that he only got to visit one of their many planned destinations, but Shiro also knows he’ll be back to each of them sometime soon, unavoidable in his line of work, and each time he’ll take Keith with him.

“About another two hours,” Shiro answers, taking Keith’s empty glass and settling it in the cup-holder in their chair.  “I’ve already called ahead.  The car will be ready as soon as we land.  We’ll be home soon, I promise.”

Keith gives him a look, and smiles, warm and serene.

 “What’s that look for?” Shiro huffs.

“Nothing,” Keith gently shakes his head.  “This is just very familiar.  Me, in a private jet, being courted around the world surrounded by a team of very different individuals.  A fancy car waiting for me at the other end.”

Shiro smiles, placing a gentle kiss on Keith’s cheek, remembering that weekend, and all the preparations he had made for it in advance.

“Though it’s not familiar at all,” Keith continues.  He places a gentle hand on Shiro’s chest.  “You’re here with me this time.”

Shiro winds strong arms around Keith, covering as much of him as he can.

“And I never plan to be anywhere else ever again,” Shiro says, their foreheads touching, eyes meeting.

Keith grins, leaning in for another kiss, which Shiro happily returns.

“I love you, Takashi,” Keith whispers against chapped lips.

“I love you, too, Babydoll.  With all of my heart.”

Shiro tucks Keith under his chin, goes back to carding his fingers through Keith’s hair, and welcomes the feeling of home returning to him once again.


	2. Im inside the club. Now what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forget that Shiro won’t come quietly, he might be a man of diplomacy and rationality, but not at all when it comes to Keith. He’s seen Shiro break a man’s jaw for Keith for doing a lot less to him than kidnapping him. Forget that Keith himself is a ticking time bomb, one with a fuse set to blow any minute now, the shrapnel sure to catch Lotor and his cronies in the aftermath.  
> It’s the sheer audacity that Lotor thinks he has over the situation, the thought that this will go any way other than completely wrong that’s lost on him that has Keith clenching his fists, trying so hard to keep his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realise how long it had been since I last updated this so I'm really sorry ;; I got loaded down with other work and forgot! 
> 
> Things are slowing down now so should be able to update the final chapter to this part sooner.  
> Thank you for your patience ><

**Then**

Don’t do drugs.

No just because they’re bad for you, which they are.  Incredibly so. 

But Keith would tell anyone not to do drugs because of the aftermath.  The goddamn withdrawals. 

His entire body convulsed once again as he heaved into the toilet, vomit poured from his mouth, burning the back of his throat and tongue.  Spit and bile coated his lips and dribbled down his chin.  He coughed, sucked in great gulps of air quickly before the next onslaught could hit him.  He gripped the toilet basin, his eyes clenched shut, wishing for it to end.

After a few more minutes of this, he opened his eyes, tears making his vision blurry, but as the nausea finally began to subside and he was free to wipe the spit and snot off his face, he noticed his vomit had started to turn brown.  Spots of blood came up through the sickening muck at the bottom of the toilet bowel.  Keith could vomit again just from the sight.  Luckily, there’s movement behind him as a hand reached over and flushed the contents away.

“Oh, God, Keith,” a gentle voice is there, soothing him, a warm hand rubbed circles into his back and neck.  “It’s alright, Sweetheart.  It’s gonna be okay.”

Keith sighed, finally able to relax slightly.  He coughed again, his throat burning with the effort.

Slowly, he rose from the bathroom floor, unable to look his companion in the eye as he made his way from the bathroom and back to the bed, but strong arms were there anyway, easing him down and under the covers.  Keith groaned, letting his entire body seep into the mattress.

“ _This_ is the shit we sell?  Seriously?” Keith coughed some more.  “Who the fuck spends thousands of dollars on shit that makes you feel like this?”

There was a chuckle beside him, a hand combing through his hair.  Keith whimpered, leaning into the touch. 

“Well, they continue to spend thousands of dollars on our products so they don’t feel like this,” Shiro explained, as he took a wet cloth they kept beside the bed and soaked it in warm water.  Keith felt relieved as it was wiped over his sensitive skin, the sweat being washed away, tears and spit finally gone from his face.  Shiro did the same to his shoulders, pushing his hair out of the way to clean his neck as well.  “You’re doing amazing, Sweetie.  Coran says you’ll only have a few more days of feeling like this, than it should start to subside.”

Keith groaned again.

“A few more days is a few days too many,” Keith whined. 

Shiro used his other hand and ran fingers through Keith’s hair, covering Keith’s weak form with his body.  Keith could feel the warmth radiating off Shiro’s chest, could feel it seep through Shiro’s muscle shirt and through his pyjamas even.  It was nice, a comfort, a luxury. 

Keith looked up into Shiro’s face, that award-winning smile shining down on him.  Keith couldn’t help but return it with his own smile, his stomach doing that weird flutter thing as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” Shiro cooed, pressing a light kiss to Keith’s forehead.  Keith couldn’t help but shut his eyes at the warmth further provided to him from Shiro’s lips.  Lips he had missed so much.  Lips he had been so sure he would never feel again.

“At least you’re here,” Keith said, lifting a trembling hand to cup Shiro’s jaw, stroking the light stubble found there.  Shiro grabbed the hand, pressing a searing kiss to the palm.  Keith felt his heart skip a beat inside his chest.

“Don’t worry, Gorgeous.  I’m not going anywhere.”

Keith hummed in response.

“You promise?” He croaked, voice beginning to break as exhaustion took its toll.

Shiro didn’t laugh, but instead his smile turned sad.

“I promise.” His eyes don’t leave Keith’s.  “I won’t leave your side ever again.”

Keith knew he wouldn’t, just as Keith knew he would never leave Shiro’s side either.

Keith was still reeling, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last few days.  When he had left his apartment after that fight with his brother, he had assumed he’d get drunk at a club, let some frat boy take him home and bed him, then wake up feeling like shit and regretting his life choices.  Rinse and repeat.

Instead, however, he had been taken from his home by a group of strangers, shoved onto a plane and flown halfway around the world, where Shiro had welcomed him back with open arms.  Keith knew which plans he had preferred happening, which ones he could gladly say he didn’t regret.

Keith looked to Shiro, who was still running the wet cloth over his skin.  His brow was furrowed in that cute way, the way he got when he was really concentrating.  Keith hummed, smiling up at his fiancé. 

He had been so sure he’d never see that look again.

“’M love you,” Keith murmured, drowsiness becoming evident in his voice as his eyelids drooped heavily.  His hand still stroked Shiro’s jaw, his thumb catching on the grizzle found on there.  The withdrawals had slowly gotten worse over the last few days, and with Shiro so preoccupied making sure his fiancé was entirely comfortable, he hadn’t had the time to keep his usual well-groomed appearance.

Not that Keith minded at all.  He quite liked it when Shiro looked a little scruffy, a little dirty.  It was hot.

Shiro’s face broke into a grin.

“I love you too, Keith.  You know I do.”

Keith shifted closer, pressing his nose into the crook of Shiro’s neck, inhaling the distinct musk, feeling his entire body vibrate at the scent.  Shiro’s laugh seemed louder from this position.

“Scenting me again, Babydoll?  We’re not animals.”

“S’not what you said when I rode you the other night.”

Shiro groaned at the memory.

Keith inhaled again. 

Cinnamon.  Musky, heady cinnamon.  Coupled with the scent of eucalyptus soap and then a hint of his deodorant.  All mixed together to create a smell so recognisable to Keith, that he was so sure he was dreaming.  This couldn’t be real.  The world didn’t work like this.  Not his world. 

Yet, Shiro shifted, putting the cloth down somewhere and gently wrapping strong arms around him, bringing their bodies together in a warm embrace.  Keith whined, curling in closer to Shiro.  Shiro hushed him, rubbed soothing circles into his back, and placed a kiss on his still, sweat-soaked hair.

Shiro was real.  He was here, he had returned, and Keith clung to him for dear life.  For his life.  As he was so sure he could never live without Shiro again.

He could never even bare to try.

“Go back to sleep,” Shiro said, his voice soft, right beside Keith’s ear.  Soothing and potent, heavy and grounding.  “Hopefully, you’ll feel up to trying some food when you wake up.”

Keith was already drifting, unable to answer except for a small grunt when Shiro only hugged him tighter. 

Shiro sung him to sleep. 

At least, he thought he did.  Keith couldn’t be sure.  Only felt warmth flooding his veins, a welcoming feeling in the place of the otherwise common pain and tingling that came with flushing your system of toxic narcotics.  It didn’t matter, he supposed, as long as he could wake up in the same arms he fell asleep in, nothing else will ever matter again.

\---

A few days later and Keith roused from a nap, feeling a little less like shit, yet still feeling like shit nonetheless.  He yawned, looked to his side, and scrunched his nose in protest at the sight of an empty bed.  He’s not angry, he told himself.  Shiro had an entire cartel to run, after all.   As much as they pretended, the world could not come to a grinding halt just for them.

He was just a little miffed Shiro wasn’t there to give him his good morning kiss.

Or afternoon…as the case may be.

Keith slowly pushed himself up, wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth and pull on some clean boxers and a shirt, before deciding he didn’t feel like going back to bed at all.  He felt like he had slept for weeks, and his body was screaming at him to move, jump, do _something_ other than lie still.  He couldn’t move or jump, but he figured he could explore the house a little more while Shiro was out.

The house was huge.  A mansion sitting in the middle of the Japanese countryside, surrounded on all sides by acres and acres of land all owned by the Altea family.  Keith had only seen a fraction of the property, enough to know he’d probably never see it all as long as he lived here, but it made for good entertainment when he wasn’t sure what else to do with his time.

Keith wandered slowly down the stairs, checking around each corner as he went in case he ran into anyone, not up to explaining why a total stranger was wondering the house in a pair of Shiro’s boxers.  He was in the kitchen when a loud sound caught his attention.  It sounded hollowed and muffled, like something large had landed on something soft.  There were cries and grunts, all coming from a hallway off past the dining room.

Keith followed the sound, curiosity eating at him.

What he found was a gym, a huge one.  There were treadmills and bench presses, weights lined up on a stand, bikes of all shapes and sizes.  Exercise balls, rowing machines, a few contraptions Keith couldn’t put a name to.  Mirrors coated the far wall.  He caught in the reflection, far off at the back of the room, a large square of rubber mats laid out corner to corner.

This didn’t intrigue him.  What did intrigue him was the group of people standing in a make shift circle on it, and in the very centre, his fiancé.

Shiro stood battle ready, breathing hard, sweat rippling over his bare chest.  His hands clenched into fists in front of him, the expression on his face so narrowed and focused, Keith wondered if Shiro had even noticed him walking in.  Keith felt a lump get stuck in his throat at the sight, at the scene of Shiro so ready to defend with his life.

Someone came at him, wielding a baton made of plywood.  Shiro only had to step to the side, tripping the man up as he did.  Another came, rushing for Shiro’s throat.  Shiro knocked the woman’s knife out of the way with one arm and punched her in the chest with the other.  Then another came, and another, all seemingly trying their hardest to best their opponent, but Shiro kicked, flipped and dodged his way out of every attack so effortlessly, Keith wondered if they were honestly trying at all.

Shiro had someone in a headlock when he looked up and noticed Keith standing there, watching him, probably getting a hard on in his boxer shorts.

“Hey, babe!” Shiro called, light and happy, as if he wasn’t currently holding a man almost his own size at bay with just an arm hooked around his neck.  “What’s up?”

Keith scoffed, walking past the mass of gym equipment and over the sweaty mats to Shiro.

“How ‘bout my dick for you?” he said, gripping Shiro’s sweaty face in his palms and pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.  Shiro happily returned the gesture.

The man under Shiro’s arm struggled harder, so Shiro let him go, the unexpected freedom sending him toppling back and rolling off the mats.  Shiro straightened up and addressed everyone.

“That’s enough for today, guys.  Thanks for coming in.”

Immediately, everyone in the room eased back, relaxed their stances, moving to put rubber weapons and other gear away.  Keith noticed they were all wearing the same sort of gym wear, all with the same gold logo printed on the back. 

Then warm hands were on the small of his back, moving him so he’s flushed against Shiro’s glistening torso.  Keith had to arch his neck all the way back to be able to look at Shiro when he stood so close, at his full height, towering over Keith.  Shiro had a smug grin on his face.

“What was that about a dick up for me?”

Keith could feel Shiro speak, they were pressed together so tightly.  Keith slapped Shiro’s bicep, acting put-off, offended.

“I swear to God, Takashi!” They both laughed, Shiro bending down to press a sweet kiss to Keith’s lips. “I had no idea you could fight like that,” Keith commented when they pulled away.  Shiro never let him get far.

“It comes with the job,” Shiro brought a hand up to rub the back of his head.  “Everyone has to be well-versed in both hand-to-hand combat and precision training.  We’re not allowed to slack on our aim, either.”  He had the gall to look slightly embarrassed, almost humbled.  Keith gave him a look of annoyed yet amused disbelief.

“Well, I always wanted a man who could bend me in half,” Keith poked fun.  He pushed up on his tip toes for another kiss.  Shiro welcomed it.

Warm, sweet and languid, the kiss was everything Keith had been dreaming of all afternoon.  He’s glad he had found Shiro in his little adventure around the house; especially in the state he did.

“You gonna share some of those moves with me,” Keith tilted his head to the side, batting his eyelashes. 

It’s supposed to be flirty.  He expected Shiro to give him a come-back, just as snarky, maybe just as dirty.  He hadn’t expected Shiro to gently turn him around, encompassing his entire back, taking his wrists gently in strong hands and moulding him into a fighting stance. 

It was one Keith had seen multiple times, on the old Jackie Chan reruns he and Shiro would put on in the background while they did other things, but it felt entirely different to how Keith would have thought it would feel.  Maybe it was the body at his back, warm and humid, Shiro still in the midst of calming down from his own workout.  Maybe it was the fluid line he could feel running down his core, centring himself where he stood, so his feet were planted flat and he felt like not even an asteroid falling out of the sky could move him. 

They worked through the basic stances like that.  Shiro taught him how to punch with his weight in his core, not in his arm.  Shiro held a pad in front of his chest, and made Keith kick it until his legs protested.  Shiro made him stretch like he hadn’t in years, his muscles protesting loudly under his skin.  By the end, Keith was shaking and sweating from the exertion, but he was grinning like a mad man. 

It was the most he had done with his body since the withdrawals had hit him hard, and it felt great to get his blood pumping.  The best part?  He didn’t feel like he was going to throw up, or like his skin was trying to jump off his bones.  He felt good again.

He laid in the centre of the mats, panting harshly as he tried to catch his breath.  Shiro came back from the gym’s fridge, handing him a water bottle.  Keith took it and pressed it to his forehead, then his neck.  The cool temperature felt great against his heated skin.

“That didn’t wear you out too much, did it?” Shiro asked, concern written in his features as he sat next to Keith, running a hand gently through the matted hair stuck to his forehead. 

Keith grinned up at him.

“Yeah!  It did!  It feels awesome!”

Shiro grinned back. 

“When you’re not as sick, I’ll teach you some more complicated moves, and give you a turn in the shooting range.  You’ll also need to be fitted for your own equipment.”

Keith finally sat up, scooching over so his side was pressed to Shiro’s so naked skin was burning him through his shirt.  He uncapped his water and took a long drink.

“How long have you been learning this to get as good as you are?” Keith was curious.  How long until he was as good as Shiro?  Until it meant he wouldn’t be weighing Shiro down the moment he left the house with him on missions?  When it would be him protecting Shiro, not the other way around.

“Let’s see,” Shiro slipped a hand around Keith, toying with the end of his now soaked shirt.  “I used to take karate as a kid, as a recreational sport.  So, when I fell into this cartel, I knew the basics already, and just picked up from where I had left off.  Maybe about seven years?  Give or take some for those years I was learning it as a kid.  Though you learn much faster when your flung into situations where your skills actually become a matter of life or death.”

Keith wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to laugh at that or not, so he just opted for leaning into Shiro’s touch and humming in affirmation.  Keith vowed then it would only take him half as long to get as good as Shiro, to shoot through the ranks and become Shiro’s go-to for protection.  Shiro already trusted him with his life, now it was time to live up to that expectation.

“How do you feel?” Shiro asked him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Now that the adrenaline had left, Keith was back to feeling exhausted and like dead weight, leaning heavily against Shiro’s side now.  He didn’t feel nauseous though, and figured that was some kind of development.  He took another swig of water before answering.

“I still feel like I’m constantly vibrating a little.  It’s not as bad as it was a few days ago.  I actually think the exercise helped; got rid of the excess energy my brain thinks I have.”

Shiro nodded.  He moved to stand, helping Keith up as he did.

“We should get some food in you before you pass out.”  Keith readily agreed.  “Then, maybe after...”

Shiro leant down, pressing a smouldering kiss to Keith’s lips.  There was nothing innocent about it.  It was scorching hot and set Keith’s veins on fire.  Shiro’s tongue stroked his lips gently, tickling almost, and when Keith gasped, Shiro licked his way in forcefully.  Keith almost collapsed into Shiro’s arms, whining at the sudden passion and attention, toes curling against the rubber mats.

“After, we can take care of that ‘dick up’ you mentioned,” Shiro chuckled.  Keith would hit him if he wasn’t so thoroughly turned on.

\---

Just over a week later, and Keith was as good as new.  Better even.  Because Shiro is there.  Shiro, his beloved fiancé, his ever-lasting rock, his guiding star in an infinite cosmos.  Shiro, who is currently passing him a magazine.  The page open has a picture of a cake.  Four layers, coated completely in marzipan, interlaced with intricate lace patterns, and spotted with countless stars.

It’s cute, Keith thought, just not what he had in mind.  He said so to Shiro.

“I just don’t think pale blue is really our colour,” Keith added, going back to flipping through his own magazine.

There’s a pained groan behind him.

“Seriously!?  Now you’re criticising the colour!?” Lance all but screeched.  He threw the envelope he had been writing on into the pile of invitations in front of him.

“Oh, hush!” Allura chimed from where she was sitting across the room.  “Keith is allowed to have an opinion!  It’s his wedding day, after all.”

“And you’re not allowed an opinion on my opinion,” Keith quipped.  Shiro chuckled.

“I just don’t see how hard it is to pick a cake!  I thought you picked a theme!  Isn’t that supposed to narrow down the choices?” Lance stretched his arms above his head, obviously taking another well-deserved break from stuffing wedding invitations.  Just like his last ‘well-deserved’ break from five minutes ago.

“If it narrowed down our choices from ten million to one million, that’s still one million cakes we have to go through,” Shiro flipped the page again as he spoke, offering another image to Keith.  Keith scrunched his nose up and shook his head.

Lance groaned again.

Keith decided he was bored, shut his own magazine and got on all fours, prowling across the cream couch, swaying his hips.  It did the trick, catching Shiro’s eye, he plucked the magazine out of Shiro’s hands and slid onto a pair of thick thighs.  Shiro’s hands immediately go to his ass, fingers sneaking under his denim shorts.

Keith kissed him.  Slow and heady and deep and wet.  Arms hooked around broad shoulders, breathing through his nose, inhaling more of that delicious scent he couldn’t get enough of.  Shiro’s arms wind around his waist, their torsos pulled flushed together now, lips parting as Keith demanded satisfaction.

“Ew!  Gross!  I’m leaving!” There’s a sound as Lance got up and stormed out of the room. 

Keith ignored it in favour of slipping his hands between them, fumbling as he groped for Shiro’s belt.

Shiro growled against his lips, the vibration sent shivers down Keith’s spine.

“C’mon, babe,” Shiro tried to interject, tried to fight off Keith’s sudden onslaught of affection.

It wasn’t working.

“Should I leave and call the dry cleaners ahead of time?  Or will you two take this to somewhere more appropriate?” Allura said dryly, as if she’s used to this.

Which, Keith supposed she was.

He knew he was being crass.  That he should dial down these sudden bouts of public displays of affection, and other times, not-so-public, but it was so hard to keep his hands, and his mouth, to himself when Shiro was right there.  Right there and willing and waiting and always just as eager to pleasure Keith as Keith was to pleasure him.

It wasn’t just him either.  Shiro did it too.  So, maybe Keith was the instigator, but Shiro could take full responsibility for being the enabler. 

“I’d say I’m sorry,” Shiro’s voice was scratchy and debauched.  “But I’m really not.”

This point is only proven as he by-passed Keith’s shorts entirely, slipping his hands under them and cupping Keith’s ass, squeezing.  Keith groaned, rocking his hips, wanting more of that rough touch that only came from his fiancé’s experienced hands.

“Alright, I’m leaving as well,” Allura stood and followed Lance’s lead out the door.  “At least put a towel down!”

Shiro chuckled.  Keith’s hands slid up into Shiro’s hair.  Shiro lolled his head to the side, his eyes shut, revelling in the intimacy.

“So, for the sake of everyone else who lives in this house,” Shiro starts in-between kisses which are only growing more and more heated.  “We really should move to the bedroom, Babydoll.”

Keith moaned, but nodded.  He pressed one more searing kiss to Shiro’s lips before he climbed off his lap.

“Fine,” Keith said, smoothing down his hair and righting his shorts.  “But only if you have your cake and eat it too.”

With a wink and an enticing sway of his hips, he walked toward the hallway, hearing Shiro’s strangled, turned-on cry before loud footsteps follow him.  Keith barely has time to let out his own cry as he’s thrown over a shoulder and rushed to the bedroom, both of them laughing the whole way.

\---

**Now**

When Lotor had dragged Keith through his club and into the backroom, he had given Keith an option: either remain naked or dress in an outfit of Lotor’s choosing.  Holding his head high, Keith had opted for the clothing, thinking there wasn’t much Lotor could have him dress in that would further damage his already fractured pride.

He was wrong.

He’s only worn lingerie a handful of times before, and only ever for Shiro, but he’s worn it enough times to know that Lotor had given him the shittiest set he could find. The G-string he had been given is starting to chafe.  The stockings are cheap and itchy, the garter belt does little to hold them up.

The pumps are the wrong size, just one size too small, so he has to stand funny in order to make them even a little comfortable.  On top of that, anything from the waist up has been left bare.  Not that he cares about being shirtless, but it feels awkward without at least a bralette to complete the set.  Feels like he’s forgotten something.

“Like it, Kitten?  I thought the lace would really accentuate those pretty thighs.” Lotor sneers, lounging back on the leather couch like he has more power than he does.  He’s grinning, smug and ugly, as Keith stands before him, dressed in as little as possible before being completely naked.

Keith tries to remind himself this man doesn’t hold any power over him.  That he’s just a bug, a knat, one who decided to prick the skin of a tiger cub with an overly powerful family probably heading this way. 

Keith tries to remind himself of all this, yet it doesn’t stop him from trembling in the too small heels.

It’s better than being completely naked in front of him though, which was his only other alternative.  At least in this, Keith could pretend he had a little pride remaining, even as embarrassing as the ensemble was.  At least he could pretend he was making it work for him, like wearing a disgustingly slutty outfit in front of his husband’s arch nemesis wasn’t totally the worse he’s ever felt in his life.

“You’re sick,” is what Keith bites back with.  Lotor’s smile falters, fixing Keith with a look, a look that makes Keith’s entire being scream ‘danger’.

Lotor carefully uncrosses his legs, makes his way over to where Keith is standing, and slaps him.

Keith’s head reels, his neck getting an uncomfortable twinge from the sudden change in angle.  His cheek throbs, his lip splits.  Keith stands his ground, only bares his teeth as he rights himself and continues to stare Lotor in the eyes, daring him to try that again.

Lotor only stares back, considering it.

“I wouldn’t talk that way to me, if I were you,” his voice is quiet but loaded.  Keith only glares harder at the tone he’s given.

“And if I were you, I wouldn’t have taken Takashi Shirogane’s husband from his own bed and forced him into this goddamn, awful outfit.”

It’s quiet between them.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Keith mutters against the hand pressed to his bleeding lip.  “Shiro is coming for me.  He wouldn’t abandon me here.  You’ll regret ever even touching me before the night is over.”

Lotor, unbelieving of Keith’s words, strolls back to his chair and takes a seat.  He clicks his fingers impatiently, one of his bodyguards-slash-servants snapping into action, quickly fixing him a gin martini and carting it to Lotor’s waiting hand.  Keith gives the guard a once over, calculating, noticing the gun on his hip, the strength in his arms, the weight in his steps. 

Clumsy, is what Keith comes up with, relies too much on his strength alone.

“You see, Kitten,” Lotor speaks.  Keith’s eyes snap back to his conniving face, wanting to hiss at the nickname, but knows that will only fuel Lotor’s image of him.  “I’m banking on your precious hubby to come and save you.”

This surprises Keith, makes him raise an eyebrow.  Lotor continues.

“Because I’ll also bet that he’d pay through the nose to have you returned to him unharmed.”

Keith scoffs.

“Little late for that, don’t you think?” Keith wipes the blood away from his lip as an example.

“Well, relatively unharmed,” Lotor amends.

Keith narrows his eyes.

“What’s your point?  You gonna hold me for ransom or something?”

Lotor takes a sip of his martini.

“Exactly.”

In any other situation, Keith might laugh.  Might actually break into hysterics, bend over and clutch his stomach at the thought that this deeply regarded, conniving and devious man can do anything  he wants to Keith right now, anything to break him under pain and pressure in the worst of ways, and he chooses to simply wait for Shiro to arrive?

Keith keeps still as best he can, because already he can see this plan falling apart in so many ways.

Forget that Shiro won’t come quietly, he might be a man of diplomacy and rationality, but not at all when it comes to Keith.  He’s seen Shiro break a man’s jaw for Keith for doing a lot less to him than kidnapping him.  Forget that Keith himself is a ticking time bomb, one with a fuse set to blow any minute now, the shrapnel sure to catch Lotor and his cronies in the aftermath.

It’s the sheer audacity that Lotor thinks he has over the situation, the thought that this will go any way other than completely wrong that’s lost on him that has Keith clenching his fists, trying so hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Shiro has more money than you can fathom,” Keith declares, finding his voice.  “You couldn’t send him broke, even for me.”

Lotor laughs.

“Please, it’s not his money I want.  I have plenty of my own.”

Keith gives him a bewildered look.  Lotor sips his drink.

“Then what?” Keith asks, impatient to get to the punchline.

Lotor takes his time finishing his drink.

“It’s his reputation,” Lotor’s eyes are narrow and shrewd as he stares at Keith over the rim of his empty glass.  “I wasn’t always at the bottom of the food chain, you know?  There was a time when I was better at this than Shiro.  Still am, actually, if it hadn’t for your feral husband running around making a mockery of my business.”

Keith scoffs again.

“Whatever you did to end up here, I’m sure you deserve it.”

“There was a day when your dearest husband decided to talk to one of my clients behind my back,” Lotor continues, ignoring Keith entirely.  “Took _my_ business from _me_.  Gave them a better deal, claimed he held better products from a better source.  He continued to do this all over Japan until I eventually was run out of the country.  Had to move sites if I ever wanted to succeed in this business again.”

Keith stares at him, almost bored.  His feet hurt.  His jaw throbs.  He’s cold.  He just wants to go home.

“Oh well,” Keith says, shrugging.  “That’s how it is I guess.  If you had better products to begin with, Shiro wouldn’t have stolen all your clients.”

“My products are fine!” Lotor’s face deforms, morphing into a look of defiance and rage, of jealousy and spiteful revenge.  “It’s your fucked-up husband who can’t keep his fucked-up nose out of my turf that’s the problem!”

It takes all of Keith’s impulse control (and there’s very little of it without Shiro around) not to leap across the table and throttle Lotor with his G-string.  His blood boils in his veins, hammering through his chest, fuelling his very need to defend Shiro’s name.

They stare each other down.  The two men calculating each other as best they can.

“It won’t matter soon,” Lotor looks like he’s taking genuine effort to calm himself from his childish outburst.  “I’ll make him give it all back.  I’ll make him retire from this business all-together if I have to.  When I’m done with the negotiations, there won’t be an ounce of the infamous Takashi Shirogane left to even consider buying from.”

Keith finds himself unclenching his jaw finally, trying to remind himself yet again that this man has no power here.  Even his squabbles with Shiro are petty at best, an annoyance at most.  It won’t be long before he’s out of here, whether by his own means or by his husband’s, sitting in a recliner next to their mansion’s pool with a corona in his hand, preferably on Shiro’s lap.

If anything, he’s even angrier now, knowing that this entire thing has just been an inconvenience to himself and to Shiro.  Their honeymoon had been going so well; glorious sex, beautiful sightseeing, souvenir shopping for their friends, dates along the river, holding each other’s hands as they shared so many wonderful experiences together.  It had been like living his wildest fantasies. 

Now, more than anything, he just wanted to go back to their house in Japan, go back to routine, if it just meant he would be at Shiro’s side.

A loud noise rips him from his thoughts. 

The floor shakes underneath them, causing Keith to stumble slightly.  There’s a loud rumble, like thunder in the distance, resonating through the floor.  Dust falls from the ceiling. Keith considers it might be an earthquake, but as everything settles, he realises it comes from a source concentrated toward the front of the building, not underneath his feet.

Everyone in the room looks around, dazed and confused as the dust settles.  The noise had sounded like someone trying to rip a steel plate in two, like something coming apart that doesn’t come apart easily.  There is screaming coming from the front of the club, glass shattering and a crowd of people dispersing in all directions as panic breaks out.  Loud footsteps thunder down the hallway, before one of the bartenders comes bursting through the door, face white and eyes wide.

“Sir!  Holy shit…you need to come see this!”

Lotor gives an annoyed growl. 

“What was that noise?” he demands, standing and heading toward the door.

With him distracted, Keith immediately begins to plan, begins to go over his options of escape.

Lotor’s bodyguards are all the same; thick muscles with no experience of strategy, all use bruit force and intimidating looks to get their job done.  Keith doubts any of them even know how to use a gun.  Whereas they could pin him down in an instant if he were caught, they would have to catch him first in order to do so.

“Well, I was just pouring drinks to a few good girls,” the bartender stammers.  “And there’s this squeal of tires and, no joke, it was like a scene out of Fast and Furious!  I half expected Vin Diesel to climb out of that car…”

“What car?  What are you talking about!?” Lotor demands again, actually stomping his foot down impatiently.

“Oh, right!  Someone drove a Lamborghini through the club’s front wall.”

Keith’s entire body seizes.

_Shiro._

Keith knows he has to escape, and he has to do it now.

There’s some commotion as Lotor swears under his breath, chastising the bartender as he ushers him out the door, slamming it behind him.  Keith is left alone with Lotor’s two cronies, who aren’t even paying him any attention, more still puzzled over the news they just heard.  Keith rolls his shoulders, goes over his plan of action one more time, and then acts.

The one standing directly in front of him needs to be the first to go, so Keith tips over the couch to make his route to Keith harder.  The sudden noise has startled them both, but neither have time to react under Keith’s fast reflexes and quick thinking.  Keith grabs the fallen martini glass, and throws it at the guard to his right. It smashes against his shoulder, the piercing noise and shattered glass enough to stun him.

Keith turns and flies out the door.

The hallway is long and foreboding but he barely hesitates as he sprints off toward where the noise before had sounded.  He can already hear the guards’ heavy footsteps, hot on his heels.  Apparently, they weren’t as slow as Keith first believed, but that didn’t make them fast enough either.  Still, they’d have to be taken care of.

Keith tries to remember which way Lotor had taken him through the hallways upon his arrival, reverse engineering the directions in which he was dragged.  Heading toward the floor would be too predictable, and he isn’t ready to deal with Lotor again just yet, so Keith takes a left turn and heads towards the stage.  The guards are slowly gaining on him, the damn heels slowing him down.  Time to be rid of them.

Once backstage, Keith stops at the curtains and turns to face his opponents.  The guards seem to think they have him cornered, that he won’t go beyond the drapes of fabric, thinking he’s too scared to be humiliated further in what he’s been forced to wear.  They underestimate him.

Keith let’s his muscles form from memory, let’s himself remember what he’s been taught since that morning on the training mats all those weeks ago.  He knows he doesn’t have to think about this, that his training with Shiro will mean his movements will fall into place like snow from a cloud, flowing naturally through his limbs so long as he trusts his instincts.

One lurches toward him, and Keith only has to step to the side before the guard goes toppling through the aforementioned curtains.  The second tries the same, Keith twists out of the way, plants his heeled foot in the middle of the guard’s back and shoves him through as well. 

Keith roars as he tears the curtains open and storms onto the stage to finish them off.  Taking off a heel and pegging it at one, he uses the distraction of the other to his advantage, falling to his knees and using the momentum to sweep the guard’s legs out from under him; his weight takes care of the rest, sending him toppling to the floor below.  Keith always was a fan of gravity.

Keith stands, surveying his work.  One guard has blood dripping from a small cut on his forehead, groaning in pain, the other is out cold.  Breathing hard, the adrenaline still coursing through his system allows him to remain standing, lopsided and shaky, but victorious nonetheless. 

_“Babydoll?!”_

Keith gasps, recognising the deep baritone of the voice calling that all too familiar pet name.

He looks over his shoulder, locking eyes with his husband.

“Puppy?!”

Keith breaks into a smile, his heart picking up speed at the sight of Shiro, a little bloodied and bruised, but as he’s wearing a mirroring smile, it’s easy to ignore.  He’s beautiful, just as he always is, in a suit slightly torn and a shirt slightly bloodied.  Keith feels his entire being yearn for the familiar embrace the sight of his husband promises. 

Elation fills him.  He had never lost faith that Shiro would come for him, had never thought Shiro wouldn’t risk life and (remaining) limb to bring him home, safe and sound, but it still fills Keith with a sense of belonging he recognises so well to see Shiro standing in the face of danger just for him.

“What the _fuck?!”_

Lotor has turned to Keith now, rage emblazoned on his pale face.  His features are scrunched together in an almost comical way, his hair a mess and his suit torn.  Whatever damage Lotor had done to Shiro, Shiro hadn’t hesitated to return it tenfold.

“Can’t you two just leave my club alone instead of destroying it at every chance you g-“

Lotor doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence as Shiro, grasping the hilt of his gun, walks up behind Lotor, and _slams it into the back of his neck._   Keith has half a mind to be shocked, if he weren’t so grateful for the quiet that follows.  He was certain that trick only worked in the movies, but nice to know Shiro has a habit of making fiction reality.

Keith lets himself turn around on his bare foot, waits for Shiro to come closer to the stage and then drops into his arms.  His limbs immediately relax.  All the buzz from the fight and his escape draining out of him as his lips finally meet Shiro’s, warm and sensual.  Keith hums, getting a whiff of Shiro’s cologne and only inhaling harder, clutching himself closer, finally letting himself believe he’s safe.

Shiro’s hold on him tightens, and Keith whimpers gratefully.  The kiss stops only when Keith lets it, and even than he keeps himself pressed to Shiro, their foreheads touching, their faces displaying their shared joy at being together again.  Keith looks into his husband’s eyes, finding home there once again.

“You came,” he whispers.  Shiro only huffs.

“Of course, I did.”

Keith wants to sing, wants to cry in joy and dance in happiness, but would much rather sleep for a thousand hours, curled up in Shiro’s strong arms.  Fingernails on his scalp, warm lips continuously pressed to patches of his skin that Shiro can reach with ease, strong hands clutching him tight to a thick body; that’s what Keith wants. 

“I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.”

Shiro kisses him again, and Keith can’t help but whine, arms winding tighter around Shiro’s neck.  It’s sloppy, and a little awkward, but Shiro holds him tight and doesn’t let him go until they’ve both had their fill.

“Hey, Black!”

They pull apart when they hear a familiar voice, looking to see Lance and Hunk stumbling through the wreckage at the front.  Lance eyes it all over, and lets out a low whistle.

“I mean that’s definitely one way to break into a prestigious nightclub,” Lance mutters.  “Damn!  Why didn’t I think of that?”

Keith is let down onto his tired feet, but he doesn’t let Shiro get very far.  Circling his arms around Shiro’s waist, he rests his tired head on a broad and firm chest.  Shiro hushes him softly, sliding off his jacket and looping it over Keith’s shoulders to help him fight off some of the night’s chill.

“Okay, Red, what in God’s name are you wearing?!”

“Shut it, Blue, or my other heel is going into your eye socket!”

\---

Once Shiro has caught him up on what happened, once the others have arrived and Allura has chastised Shiro about his carelessness (which Shiro nods along too but looks entirely unapologetic), even when Zarkon of all people shows up out of nowhere, Keith finds himself wanting to collapse onto the road if it just means he can sleep.  He’s pushed toward Allura’s car instead.  He’s hesitant to leave his husband alone with someone they all clearly mistrust, but a look from Shiro assures him his husband can candle himself.

If anything, tonight only proved just that.

As they all gaze on at Zarkon and Shiro’s quiet conversation, all trying unsuccessfully to hear what’s happening or read what’s being said on their lips, Keith fights to keep his eyes open that little longer.

“Zarkon won’t try anything, will he?” he asks.  He may be exhausted, but he won’t hesitate to leap out of the car and defend his husband in an instant if needed.

“Not here,” Allura answers from the front seat.  “He cares about his reputation far too much, and he’s already been humiliated enough tonight thanks to his son.”

Keith considers the look Shiro is currently giving Zarkon, one of pent up rage and aggression he doesn’t normally show, a look Keith hadn’t seen in a very long time until tonight.

“What did Zarkon do to him?” It’s the first time Keith has asked the question outright.

He’s met with silence.  Keith turns to see everyone giving him a regretful look of utter despair, the kind of look you give someone when you want to tell them, but know you can’t, when it’s not your story to tell.  Keith sighs.  He understands; he just wishes asking wouldn’t mean dredging up so many painful memories for his already abused partner.

He’s thankful when Shiro walks away, limping slightly over to the car and climbing in.  Keith tries to read his face, tries to see if anything Zarkon said has dug hot pokers into bullet holes.  Shiro, for the most part, seems fine.  Just tired and angry.  Keith can relate.

Allura starts the car and pulls away from the train wreck that is Lotor’s club.  Keith lets Shiro pull him in, a strong arm looping around his waist.  He kisses the underside of Shiro’s jaw, to which Shiro responds by tangling fingers into his hair.  Keith tries not to read into the strained silence that fills the car, tries not to let it fill him with the worry and anxiety he was just rid of, and he finds his exhaustion overweighs his worries for once, pulling him under, the heartbeat of his beloved lulling him to sleep.

\---

When Shiro smiles, he has a dimple.  Just one.  On the right side of his mouth.  Keith hadn’t noticed it the first time they had gone home together, the club’s pulsing lights and the white, hot passion between them making it hard for Keith to see anything past a perfect set of toned abbs, but when he had noticed, he hadn’t ever not noticed it again.

Now, it’s one of his favourite things about Shiro besides, well, everything else.

Keith grins to himself as he stares at Shiro’s expression, soft and relaxed as he sleeps on beside Keith, face pressed into the pillow, hair a tangled mess.  Keith carefully lifts a hand, pushing strands of Shiro’s hair away from his eyes, watching that beautiful smile twitch on full lips.  He must be having a good dream, Keith thinks to himself, to be smiling so widely in his sleep.

The clock on Keith’s side of the bed ticks away.  It’s late in the morning, but Keith could care less about the passage of time when Shiro is so soft next to him.  Shiro’s back rises and falls, the man’s habit of sleeping on his stomach means he’ll definitely have a sore neck when he wakes up, but Keith decides to give him just a few more moments of rest before saving him from sore muscles.  Besides, Keith doesn’t want to interrupt this small and rare moment of peace they have.

Instead, Keith carefully leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth, just over the dimple, and then settles back into the pillows next to his husband, stroking a finger over Shiro’s clenched fist beside him.  Shiro hums softly at the movement, but doesn’t rouse. 

Keith can’t stop smiling.

It’s only been a few days since their return, but Keith is happy to know that everything seems to be going back to normal.  Shiro is lining up a few big deals over the next few weeks, the others fulfilling their roles with little complaint over their interrupted holiday.  Both Shiro and Keith seem to meld seamlessly back into the life they had put on hold.  In truth, Keith’s not even mad about their honeymoon anymore, if it means fulfilling a duty he can be proud of, next to a man who is proud of him.

Keith’s thoughts are interrupted when Shiro stirs beside him.  Shiro groans, his brows furrowing, his sleep addled self finally realising the position he’s put himself in again, before he carefully rolls over so he’s lying on his back.  Keith watches dark lashes flutter, grey eyes opening, a yawn breaking from Shiro’s mouth as he becomes conscious. 

Keith doesn’t wait for Shiro to wake any further before crawling up to his side and draping himself over a firm chest.  Keith kisses the scar over Shiro’s heart, lets his head fall into the crook of Shiro’s neck, relaxing into a somewhat awkward position, straddling one of Shiro’s thighs, arms wrapped neatly around his torso.  Shiro chuckles, very much used to Keith’s needy behaviour first thing in the morning.

“Mornin’, Babydoll,” Shiro’s voice is rough but quiet, beautiful in Keith’s ears. 

Keith hums.

“Good morning,” he says, a little more alert, but pretends not to be as a heavy arm is draped over his waist and he’s tugged ever closer against Shiro’s chest.

There’s a silence that follows that is neither heavy nor light, just a balance of peace and quiet fallen around them, as there is no space left between them.

“How did you sleep?” Keith asks, a hand running up the line of Shiro’s muscles and over his heart.  Shiro shifts under the touch, but keeps him close regardless. 

“Good.”

Keith waits for more, and has to prod when more doesn’t come.

“Just good?” 

Shiro hums.

“Don’t have any nice dreams to tell me about?”

Shiro scoffs.

“I was smiling in my sleep again, wasn’t I?” His chest begins to shake with the beginnings of a laugh.  Keith’s face breaks into a grin once again.

“Yeah.  You were.”

Shiro does laugh at that.

“I was dreaming about you, of course.” Shiro’s voice softens as he speaks.  “Actually, it was more of a memory.”

Keith makes a non-comital noise.

“Which one?” He asks, fingers now tracing the scars lining Shiro’s skin.  His fingers fall and rise with the indents, over the pink skin that never really healed, over the muscle that has fought to show something else besides vulnerability in spite of that.

Shiro plays with Keith’s hair a little, pulling at the ends and making them puff out, before threading his fingers through the strands and scratching the nape of Keith’s neck.  Keith enjoys the feeling, the shared comfort and trust they have in one another to play with each other’s bodies like this

“It was a few weeks ago.  One of the days we had with the team, when the pool was being cleaned but it was too hot to be inside, so we turned all the sprinklers on.  You filled up a bucket and emptied it over Lance’s head.  That started the largest, most intense water fight I’ve ever been a part of,” Shiro says all of this with amusement hidden deep in his voice, making the words light on his tongue.

Keith remembers.  He remembers the laughter and the sun beating down on all of them.  He remembers teaming up with Pidge, ganging up on Lance.  He remembers Allura’s squeals as Hunk shot her with a water pistol he had found.  He remembers Coran overpowering them all, the obvious victor.  Most of all, just as it is with all his memories, he remembers Shiro.  He was soaked by the end of the day, water glistening over his shoulders and neck, pasting his white hair to his forehead, grin wide on his face, that dimple so prominent Keith hadn’t been able to resist standing up on his toes to kiss it.

“I remember,” Keith says.  “I still felt so new to the team; I didn’t know if I had offended Lance or not when I had soaked his shirt, but Hunk made me feel better by holding him in place for me so Pidge and I could soak the rest of his clothes.”

Shiro hums, nodding against Keith in agreement.

“It was like watching it all play back on a TV set in front of me,” Shiro says referring to his dream.  “Like an out of body experience, but a good one.  I just wanted to keep watching, to see what happens next.  I want to know that all of my memories will be just like that.”

Keith buries himself closer into Shiro’s side.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he promises, voice confident and strong as he kisses Shiro’s jaw line.  “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, happen to us.  Not again.”

He can feel Shiro’s smile against his hair, knows Shiro’s dimple will be back, prominent as ever as Shiro feels secruity from his husband’s words.

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro says honestly.  “You know I’ll do the same for you.  I’ll do anything to make sure we’re never parted again.”

Keith pushes himself up, but only far enough so he can rest his lips against Shiro’s, lips melding together in a scorching and familiar kiss.  The kiss is lazy and sweet, no hurry to go anywhere or be anything more than a morning greeting, the rest of the day laid out bare before them.  Keith cups Shiro’s face in his hands, lets Shiro grip him even tighter, and holds on for dear life as he takes all his promises, takes all his faith in the man underneath him, and places it all into that good morning kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see what Lotor had Keith wear go [here](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1hxGYRVXXXXXrapXXq6xXFXXXt/Sexy-font-b-Garter-b-font-Belt-font-b-Lace-b-font-Sexy-Women-Ultrathin-font.jpg):3c
> 
> I'm @kinkykeithy on twitter if you'd like to follow or talk to me there too!
> 
> <3 Thank you for reading! You're all very special!


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